


Jagged

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-05
Updated: 2005-09-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: Harry drank entirely too much alcohol last night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: This is only my twisted version of JKR’s splendid universe. I’m just having fun, honestly. Harry wouldn’t drink himself into a near coma, would he? Of course not. See? It’s all right. 

A/N – thanks to all who review and to Laura for completely rocking out.

Jagged

Jagged, tearing, ripping pain. Worlds of wretched torture, dry and hot, focused on his head. Shifting oceans of nausea, deep in his gut, bubbling their way to his mouth. Desperately, he tried to gain his feet, to run for the toilet. Harry Potter woke up in literal agony, of a rather sloshy sort. ‘Damn,” he said in a voice laced with headache and far too much alcohol, “How bloody much whiskey did I drink last night?”

The amused chuckle, warm and rich as rivers of heated molasses (very likely just as sticky too), nearly startled him out of his skin, which was all exposed, he noted with a blink. Why was he naked? Where were his pants? What was that, just there, on his thigh? And his navel. And his chest. And his…..no, it simply didn’t bear thinking about.

Wildly, he glanced about the room, his eyes flicking over the armchair in the corner, the ottoman below it, to the window seat, the lovely bricked fireplace, around to the dresser, back to the…bed. He did not see anybody. He also did not see his pants. However, he sensed someone. Surely his senses were just not that accurate on this most horrendous of mornings. What day was it, anyway? He narrowed his eyes but could not possibly think. He couldn’t even reason out completely that those…things…were hickeys. Could he?

He was quite sure the few rays of sunshine allowed in by the blinds were going to sear his retinas completely away from the insides of his eyes. If he could figure out just how to pry his eyelids away from his swollen and painful eyeballs. Oh no, he was never, ever, ever going to drink anything other than water and tea, ever again. No matter who annoyed him or how very darkly sleek and sexy they were. The nausea rose once more.

‘Ohno, ohno, ohno,’ he wheezed out loud with large amounts of trepidation and not a little shame. ‘Ohno, ohno, ohno, please, please, by Merlin’s sword, please tell me I absolutely did not…’the words died in his befuddled brain before he could complete the thought. The awful, terrible, no good, well wait, actually very good if he was right..thought. That couldn’t possibly be right. Could it? 

He ran for the attached bathroom and was promptly, violently, obnoxiously ill. He remained safely ensconced there for nearly half an hour. In between bouts of retching, he prayed he had only had a nightmare; an extremely tactile nightmare, a nightmare that smelled and tasted incredible, but a nightmare nonetheless. He begged to the Gods to grant him a small mercy; that what he thought he dimly remembered happening did not, in point of fact, happen at all. Finally spent, he made his woozy way back to his comfortable bed. His exact words, said in desperate plea to the Gods and in a decided slur, “I saved the whole blasted world from Voldemort, but I did not, in point of fact, fuck Snape. Oh no. No way. Even if I did, there is no possible way that either of us enjoyed it.”

“Bloody hell,’ he again said out loud, so that anyone could hear, “I’ve clearly lost what’s left of my mind.”

He flopped down gratefully, and was just beginning to stick his head under the pillow so that he could have an entirely proper lie in. Then he heard it again. That low, dark, dastardly, dangerously rich and sinful chuckle of amusement. He idly thought to himself, as much as his spinning brain would allow, that there was something just a bit…off..about that chuckle, but he really couldn’t be bothered to determine just exactly what it was, since he was concentrating with all his might on keeping his severely abused digestive tract connected to his body. Besides, that chuckle wasn’t even real. Was it?

In short, this was clearly not Mr. Potter’s best day ever, and he’d just as soon lapse into alcohol induced coma again and forget it ever happened. Perhaps if he was lucky, he’d wake up later and none of this would ever have happened. It was a testament to just exactly how hung over he was, that he did not immediately seek the source of that decadent chuckle he’d heard twice now, coming from his own bed. With the dim reflection of that frightening thought in the depths of his impaired brain, Harry Potter gave it up and lapsed back into sleep. The tall, dark and dour man beside him continued to chuckle without sound. Oh, it was starting off to be a simply smashing Winter Holiday.

When he judged it was entirely safe, the snarky and snide Potions Master unwound himself from the bedclothes and allowed himself to feast his eyes on the entirely fetching morsel he’d somehow wound up going home with last evening. Laughing silently, he contemplated the sleeping form of the dark Botticelli painting come to life in front of his eyes. When his sense had drunk their fill of the beautiful young man, he took himself off to the shower to clean up. Perhaps the suck marks he had on the upper slides of his porcelain elegant throat would be gone by the time the Potter brat woke up. He certainly had no intention of leaving until he was certain the by did indeed wake up and have full cognizance of what he’d done while under the influence. 

If he got really lucky, he’d figure out a way to entice the boy to do it again, but sober this time. Madly passionate sex is so much better when one is aware of it happening, he thought idly. The Potions Master allowed himself that one tiny ray of hope.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry came to consciousness slowly, several hours later. His eyes slowly shifted into something approaching focus. He blinked his way around the room. Then his blood ran cold. 

The first thing he saw was a pair of boxers, with the Slytherin emblem on them, hanging from one of the four posters of the bed. The second thing he saw was the familiar set of all black robes from his childhood, slung over the armchair. The third thing he saw was the man himself, standing at the foot of the bed, naked as the day he was born, and smirking at him in that familiar snarky smirk he always wore solely for Harry. After a moment, he began to think, very privately, that perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He cursed, slowly and quietly, running through his entire repertoire of bad language. “Bloody Hell. Tell me this is a very bad dream. Tell me.” He was desperate in his need.

The Professor could not comply, unfortunately. He was laughing entirely too hard.

“That’s it,” said Harry with a degree of irritation, “The world has gone barking mad and I’ve gone right along with it. Professor Severus Snape does not laugh. Therefore, this is a very bad dream. Therefore, I am going back to bed.”

“If you must, you must.” The rough sexy voice, scraped along his nerve endings, like sandpaper on silk. Then the admittedly gorgeous body in front of him……simply pounced.

All Harry’s breath whooshed out of him in a rush. He’d just been pinned by roughly twelve stone of VERY aroused Slytherin Wizard. What in bloody hell was he supposed to do? His mouth opened in shock. His prick began to stand up and take notice. His tongue began to duel with the hot, wet, altogether dangerous tongue that was currently learning the curves of the back of his throat. His hands began to move, up and down that elegant spine, caressing those sweetly curved buttocks. His lips began to move faster. He began to moan. 

As the wicked Potions Master moved down his body, trailing kisses along the way, Harry Potter began to not think at all. He wound his fingers though Snape’s soft, sexy hair. He began to push him towards his openly weeping penis. His hips began to twitch. He made lovely purring noises deep in his throat. Then he made louder moaning noises. Several minutes later, he was screaming in pure pleasure. He drew a painful breath, and muttered, “Accio Lube.”

The body above him went completely still. The face rose up to lock its inky eyes with his own cloudy emerald gaze. The bottomless velvet voice groaned. “Are you sure, Harry? Be very sure. I’m not all certain I’d enjoy giving you up.” Harry nodded and grinned his cheekiest grin at the amazingly talented Potions Master whose skills he’d just begun to plumb.

His whisper was hoarse with need and passion, promise and pure desire, “Take me, Severus. Take me now.” He moaned as he felt a finger, slick with lube, invade the sweet spot between his ass cheeks. It twisted and turned, rather like a snake. Harry noted with some amusement that that was probably perfect. Very soon, with the addition of a second finger, he was gasping instead of amused. Then he felt the head of Severus’ (just when had he become Severus, anyway?) impressive erection at the entrance to his nether regions. As his lover sank slowly into his body, his moans became shouts of pleasure. 

Somehow, he had the presence of mind to not go insane with ecstasy. Then he felt Severus’ hands, his long elegant, incredibly talented hands, on his leaking cock and he did indeed lose his mind. With a shriek, he climaxed so hard he literally saw stars. His muscles clenching around his lover, he soon felt the answering orgasm surging through him. With a moan of his own, several in fact, Severus collapsed on top of his young mate and rested, carefully using his elbows to keep from crushing the boy. 

The two men rested; how could they not, after passion such as theirs had finally been unleashed and they were both sober enough to enjoy it? They spoke, haltingly. Phrases like ‘I never thought’ and ‘I was sure you hated…’ and ‘never did I dream’ and ‘would you be willing to consider?’ crossed their lips, interspersed with long, lazy kisses of comfort and hope. By the time they could move again, the two men had come to an understanding about how they felt about one another.

Harry’s last conscious thought before he fell asleep much later that night, well loved and well sated, was, “Dear Gods, please, don’t ever let this end.” His pleading to the Gods was a source of amusement for some time to come. They of course, had seen it all happening, from the time these two soul mates were born. They were perfect for one another.

The End


End file.
